


Moments in Love: The Flow of an Evening

by Entwife_Incognito



Series: "Moments in Love" [1]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: "Moments in Love" series, F/M, Hot Fluff, Porn, Romance, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8686249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwife_Incognito/pseuds/Entwife_Incognito
Summary: I think I'll write a little "Moments" series of one-shots for awhile. Seems like a summery thing to do. This one is a little slice of porn without plot, hot fluff from Jane's POV. He's deeply and openly in love, so it's a bit reflective and dreamy, but of course it comes with a Warning! Adult sexual situations. Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.Posted first on FFnet on July 15, 2014. Now here with refining edits.





	

Tonight I'm home earlier than Teresa. I love these moments. Stretched on the sofa with a glass of red, soothing classical music turned low, watching the front door for that first wiggle of the knob, my love coming to me. She peeks in, dark lashes framing her green eyes, big and searching. Evening is a gray blanket behind her. An irrepressible smile dimples her face when she sees me lift my head and grin at her. Then her small shapely body is in, she seats the door and locks it.  


"You're home," I say.  


"As fast as I could get here."  


"I love how you run home to me."  


She smiles. That wonderful smile from when I kissed her for the first time. It ends with her mouth softly open in wonder. She likes what I say, what I do. She wants more. I make her happy. A rush of feeling flows over me like a warm waterfall. I am covered, cleansed by her sweet hunger.  


The heat in her eyes reminds me of our first lovemaking. She wants more. Lots more. Something opened in her and it opened for me. She wasn't expecting for sex with me to feel so good. I wasn't expecting the thrill in my entire sexual nature that belongs only and constantly to Teresa. That's how sex is with someone we love so deeply. I can't get enough of her. Obsessive love for another can be a poison, but what we give each other is nourishing, makes us whole.  


There is no pretense tonight, no delay, no reserve, no rankling leftover irritation from the day. No more withholding in fear or distrust. She drops everything in a pile at the door, shedding her gun and badge, running to my open arms, hair flying out as she pounces on me. My girl, my woman, my everything.  


I make a cradle of my body for her to land in. She craters softly and I cushion well. She holds my cheeks so I have to look right into her eyes when she says, "I love you, Patrick. I can't wait to get to you."  


Once I saw a wide patch of dandelions in the sun, dense and shimmering. That's what I think of now . . . I'm vibrant under her warm penetrating gaze, soaking up her love and beaming it back to her like radiant yellow dandelions. All she has to do is pick her wild bouquet.  


Teresa doesn't want to make love on the couch, but she wants to drive us both insensible with desire there, wants to feel that heat in her body and kindle it in mine. That's easy. All she has to do is look at me. But she carries me away with kisses and touch, caress and the press of her body against me. In no time, we are a soft squirming ball, trying desperately and without success to express this unspeakable love in our hearts. We must settle for being passionately mated lovers, murmuring tender inadequacies, sometimes with feelings inexpressible except by helpless tears.  


Instead of running with me for the bedroom in a race to shed our clothes, she stands and peels hers off as I watch, holding out a hand that commands me to stay down. She sees my dark eyes, lips wet as my tongue lashes them from my watering mouth. My blood is up and the veins must be pounding in my neck. I shift my hips because my erection demands accommodation for morphing into a column of granite, and I'm sure it looks like I am rolling them to entice her. She looks and the green in her eyes disappears, but she doesn't succumb.  


When she's naked, she fluffs the little patch of dark hair where I want my fingers and opens her legs to sit on my chest, waiting for the moment my hands glide up her thighs and my thumbs separate her lips to slide and rub her highly excited flesh. I take time to look at the exquisite formation of pink, so close, all its delicate features alive and calling me into her body, a deep and dark secret place I remember and crave. Something primordial rushes through my blood, something that wants to own her, make her quake inside because of what only I can do for her. It must wait. I bat the tips of my thumbs on her clit like a prizefighter. By the time she's come, there's a small patch of her wet on my shirt and the deep draw of her scent is driving me mad.  


I want to take control. Turning to sit, I carry her with me to my lap and straddle her on my legs. I cradle her head with one hand and slip two fingers into her with the other. She gasps and lets her legs go limp, opening to me completely. Something snaps in my brain and what's left of my thoughts go primitive, wild and invasive, visceral, rutting. It must wait to impale her, my driving impulse. I compromise by inserting a third finger and rolling them all to the last knuckle, bending them to rub the top of the slippery vault, my thumb on her clit as a brace for delirium.  


She rises up with a gasping shout and I slide my other hand from her head to the middle of her back, support as I start in with my mouth on her tender breasts, the hard nipples teasing my tongue. Her bare feet wedge at my hips when she crouches closer, slightly elevating herself to keep my fingers in place, moaning as she meets their rhythm. I twist them in and out, drenched in her moisture, imagining myself buried to the hilt and fucking her, crazed.  


When she comes, I pull out and let her fall softly, grabbing her hips with soaking fingers to pull her convulsing sex against the erection still in my pants. I try to be gentle so the cloth doesn't rub her raw. When she spreads her legs wider, I can really jam myself between her swollen labia. She groans hard, still in orgasm. She's soaking a spot on the outside of my trousers while I soak the inside of my clothes with my own moisture.  


I don't want to come yet. If I did, my underwear would be fine by me at this point. But she's got more and I want it. I swing her high on my chest and she turns her head to cover the back of my neck with steaming kisses. Chills running to every nerve bundle in my body, I stand up and head for the bedroom, tossing her gently on our bed to strip off my clothes.  


She laughs. "You're wet!" Her eyes travel my body, note her little blots and patches up and down my shirt and pants. "Everywhere!"  


"If I could lick it clean, I would, just for the pleasure of tasting you."  


"You dog!" She's smiling with a hot glint in her narrowed eyes when she opens her legs, giving me just a peek as she scoots over to make room for me.  


I grin. I know she's naming something she finds arousing in me.  


Her skin soaks up moonlight. It's full tonight and just rising through the west window.  


Teresa is mounded and round, especially where her breasts circle deep into the shadows, curving from her chest. The fecund flare of her hips excites me to plant seed in her, awakens a driving instinct to fill my mate with child, swell her breasts with rich milk and watch our babies suckle there. The desire can be blinding when my lovemaking turns feral.  


She sees my far-away stare. "I love the way you look at me sometimes, lost . . . dreaming."  


She's on the far side of the bed. My side. I crawl over, kissing her as I hover, hand full of a lovely breast, preparing to quickly penetrate her. But Teresa has different needs tonight and she gently pushes me to my back, straddling low on my thighs. I have no idea where she is going with this and the mystery thrills me.  


She takes me in one small hand. The sensation covers my body as if she had a thousand hands on me everywhere. She rubs herself with the other hand and places the flat of her tiny fingers against my lips. Her wet is for me. I lick to taste it. She smiles and wipes along the line of my upper lip, sticking our scent under my flaring nostrils. She's satisfying the dog who worships her.  


Her body is one long curve, pale in soft moonlight, a living arc from her bowed head, down her rounded back to her tucked bottom, her legs wedged under, taking her full weight from my thighs. She curls over me and teethes on my nipples. Whatever of my cock had relaxed on the way to the bedroom leaps rigid now as my hips arch up and I cry out in surprised joy. I lie in deep shadow between her breasts. They brush me, bump me as she laves and sucks her way to my root where she teasingly bites a mouthful of the flesh over my pubic bone. My satiny cock brushes her soft cheek as she moves. I groan when she doesn't take me into her mouth, but moves back up, stretching to comfort me with a quick kiss. It's not much comfort. Her dark wavy hair is a flowing curtain of warmth, rippling and trickling over my belly and chest. My mind is going. She grabs the rigid shaft of my aching, dripping flesh, pulls it down and curls more, using my cock to stimulate herself.  


I've done this many times with my own hand around my hard flesh, rubbing it onto and all around her clit until she comes, gasping, and opens her legs to ride me all the way in. I don't pay attention to my hand when I do that. But I feel hers now, holding me straight and swirling me in novel ways I will never remember because I can't think, only feel, only succumb.  


My breathing and cries have a helpless quality as the hard pearl of her sex travels the succulent head of my cock over and over and over. Sometimes it rides the veiny shaft. Always, her hand is on me, squeezing, pressing, pushing. I want her to stop so I can plunge into her and come. I want her never to stop so I can live in this bliss forever.  


I hold handfuls of her shiny, sleek hair against her head and neck because I have to anchor in something as she brings herself to orgasm again and again, telling me how much she loves me, how good I make her feel. I am beyond speech.  


My body is in extremis, trying to hang on while she gives the head of my cock the ride of its life. The pleasure of what she does is exquisite, so concentrated it feels beyond this world. 

I hear her calling from far away, "Now. Now." When I explode in her hand, I know I'm giving her what she wants because she moans and croons, "Oh. Oh. That's it. Thank you. Oh. It's so warm . . ."  
The hot spray that zips from my body, she directs to her clit and her next release starts with a throaty scream. We are desperate to join. I bury myself, spurting and finishing deep inside her rhythm, warm and hugged tight where I belong, crying with relief in the sheer transporting ecstasy.  


She collapses on my chest, her cheeks wet, too, and I softly pet her back and head, whispering what enters my mind. "Marvelous woman. Teresa. Mine. So good. I love you." We lose consciousness together.  


Satiation is still a languorous drug in our bodies when we awake. We traipse to the shower, then fix soup and sandwiches for a quick, filling dinner. It's our standard backup meal for nights like this. Quick and mindless, nourishing, satisfying to snarling bellies. We're naked and fresh, because our next stop is sleep.  


Teresa's hair is still wet and curling wildly as it moves against her back and shoulders. She is relaxed and unaware, walking naked through the house. Her breasts sway gently against her chest by their own dense weight, the areolae puffy soft, shiny in rest. Relaxed, they lend an upturned shape to her breasts that disappears when they are pulled taut with excitement. I want to catch her, suck an areola gently to my tongue, press it like a little pillow of water. But I will never get that far. As soon as she sees me looking at her, that tender skin tightens and wrinkles as her nipples start to peak.  


If I wait until morning. If she sleeps soundly while I secretly stir. If she's lying on her back. I can look at her relaxed areolae in the morning light, pillowing warm under soft nipples.  


I can hold back until I'm ready to savor their silk, caress them tenderly with the tip of my tongue. I'll fold my lips around the one I've chosen, knowing I will make her flesh taut, the nipple stand high as soon as she senses it. And when I'm ready I will suck, desperate to feel her shock, the warm increase of her breath, its scent drifting into my brain. I'll feel her squirm, listen to her racing heartbeat as she wakes to me. The innocent softness will disappear and another pleasure will take its place.  


We tidy the kitchen and living room, cut the lights. My hand rests on her waist as I bend my head to kiss her lightly on the lips and we walk to the bedroom. We take turns for last minute things in the bathroom. Then we snuggle together under the bedcovers and sigh contentedly before drifting into sleep.


End file.
